


Loyal To A Fault

by donutsweeper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Transformation, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-11
Updated: 2008-11-11
Packaged: 2019-06-18 08:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15481833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: When Dean went off on a hunt by himself his world took an unusual turn, but he was a real champ at dealing with how it turned out.





	Loyal To A Fault

Dean struggled, not that it did any good. He pretty much couldn't move, strung up like he was, and his head still spinning from whatever had been blown in his face. If only he had held his breath! Something had felt off, the entire time he’d been talking to her; he should have paid more attention, moved faster, been quicker, and he shouldn't, really shouldn’t, have come alone.

The woman from earlier was gone now. Whatever was in the room with him now wasn’t human; long thin claws ran through his hair, stroking his face and he could dimly make out the creature's mutterings as some sort of spell. He fought against the touch, but his head ached and his thoughts muddled and he couldn't string a coherent thought together other than ‘No! Not good! Get out! Get away!’ but the bindings were strong and his muscles weren't working and there was nothing he could do.

Eyes wide, he watched as it wrapped his left hand, binding his fingers together. He tried to punch her and shake his fingers about, anything that would prevent whatever it was from taking away his hand and his ability to grab a knife or fire a gun, but it was too strong and the chains too tight. It just hissed at him as it curled his fingers into a fist and then slipped a mitt of some sort over it and buckled it shut. Gliding over to his other side, still somewhat hidden by the smoky haze that permeated the entire room, it repeated the action with his right hand.

Wings fluttered, stretching, rustling as its claws ran across his stomach for a moment before being raised up like it was going to disembowel him. What the hell was it doing? "No!" he screamed, or tried to, the gag prevented nothing more than a soft moan from escaping. Without even pausing, the claws slipped under his belt and sliced through his jeans and boxers, shredding his jeans, stripping him all the way down to his feet. After pulling down the tattered clothing so they pooled at his feet something was attached around each thigh and ankle; it was sharp and bit into his skin at points, but before he could react the creature grabbed his ankles, flicked off the chains tying them to the wall and attached the band around the ankle to the one around that thigh with a loud ‘snick.’

Now that they were no longer tied down he thrashed his legs, and even managed to slam his knee into the creature’s side, but he didn’t hurt it. The thing didn’t even seem to notice, just gripped his bent leg tightly as it wound a binding around it, working from the knee to the attached thigh and ankle and then back down again. Dean was dimly aware of something being pulled over his legs, but his struggling had exhausted him and he couldn’t quite seem to get enough air.

His head was swimming, everything going dark, but he thought he heard someone mumble “good boy” just before he passed out.

* * *

  
He came to slowly, his mind still all muzzy and confused. Working his jaw he realized he had on a gag of some sort but there was nothing restraining him in other way. Trying to move quickly, and failing since his entire body felt weighed down with lead, he tried to paw off the muzzle. _Paw?_ He stared down at the offending body part. He had a paw. Looking further he saw he had several paws, four in fact. Right. Paws. Of course.

The air shifted and he could smell a woman approaching. She gave off the scent of warmth and home and comfort. Dimly, he realized she was murmuring something, but although the noise registered he couldn't understand the words. She came into his line of sight and slowly reached out her hand before running her fingers through his fur. Hair. No, it was fur, and scratching him behind the ear. The scratching felt good, odd, but good.

He couldn't figure out what was going on. Something about this wasn't right, he knew that much, but what? Memories skittered by but didn't stop to stay and chat, leaving his head aching that much more and him even more confused. Whimpering behind the muzzle he looked up and saw her eyes fill with concern. She continued petting him, running her long, thin fingers down his flank, soothing away his concern. "Good boy," she said, her voice soft and caring. _That_ he understood. "Such a good boy." The praise warmed him and his tail, _tail_ , his tail wagged in response. Yes, he was a Good Boy. Yes.

He decided she must be pack leader, his Master. He could tell that from how strong she was, how she soothed him, how much she cared. He brushed aside his confusion, his faint unease and accepted her pats and stroking, calming down and leaning ever so slightly into her touch.

“My champion,” she crooned, removing his muzzle. “Who’s my big strong champion?”

He scrabbled up into a sitting position, front paws out straight, butt down on the cold tile, tail thumped against the floor loudly. Her tone was so proud and loving. ‘Me!’ he barked with a loud woof that reverberated around the room, ‘I am!’

“That’s why you’re my Champ, aren’t you, fella? Champ!” Champ? Was that his name? It didn’t sound right, but she was Master so she would know, so it must be right. “My special Champ!”

All he understood was the word “Champ” but it didn’t matter, he could tell she was happy with him. ‘Champ! Champ! Champ!’ he barked over and over again.

"That's right!" she replied and bent down to scratch him in his favorite spot just behind the ear. She gave him a big smile when his back leg started going in tune to her scratch, he couldn’t help it! It felt so good!

Standing up she tapped her thigh and said, "come." Now that was a word he knew. He got up himself and started to walk after her, but his paws skittered and slipped on the floor and his balance was all wrong because he kept almost falling over.

"Come, Champ." Master wasn't sounding as happy now. Champ didn't want to make her mad so he carefully set his feet as he walked, making sure each paw was fully supporting his weight before he moved his next one forward. It was slow to move that way, and again, there was that odd niggling feeling that something was very wrong, that he should be walking some other way, but he couldn't figure out how he'd ever walked differently on his four paws, so he shook his head and just continued to follow her. He was a Good Boy, he wanted her to be happy with him.

She led him to the room that smelled like food and plunked down a bowl of water. "Stay," she ordered, holding up a hand, but he was so thirsty he didn't listen and dove his head into the water. "NO!" she yelled and smacked him across the nose. “Bad dog.”

Champ jumped back and yipped in surprise. He hung his head, 'Sorry' he woofed softly. He hadn't meant to make her mad, he was just so thirsty. 'Champ Sorry.'

"Oh, sweetie, I know you're trying." He voice wasn't quite so mad now. She refilled the bowl and said "stay" again, holding the hand up in the same way.

He took at step forward, closer to the water only to be smacked on the nose again. Which hurt.

“Stay.”

Okay, Champ thought, 'Stay' and the hand up like that was an order that meant not to move. So he shouldn’t move when she said it. If he listened to Master everything would be okay. He had to listen and do what she wanted him to do or he would be a Bad Dog.

“Stay,” she repeated. This time he didn't move when the bowl was put down, just stared at a spot the floor right in front of his paws, his shoulders still hunched in shame. He didn’t want to be Bad Dog.

"Now," she called out, dropping her hand to her side. "Good boy, Champ. Come, Champ. Come and get your water."

Champ looked up, she was smiling. Smiling was good. She didn't sound mad anymore either. Not being mad at Champ was good too. He inched forward slowly, testing her reaction, but her smile didn't waver, and she pointed at the water.

"Good boy. Drink boy, it's okay." So Champ greedily drank from his bowl, lapping up the cool water. He made a big mess, which she didn't seem to mind, but at least he got enough to drink that he wasn't thirsty anymore. And then she pet him some more before bursting out laughing when he started giving her doggie kisses and licking her face. He liked the sound of her laugh. Making Master happy made him happy and he licked her some more. He liked being a Good Boy.  
  


* * *

  
Champ was curled up next to the couch chewing on his squeaky bone when he heard Master call out, “Champ? Here boy!” Dropping Squeaky he ran for the backdoor, but he took the corner a little too fast and slipped on the rug for a moment before catching himself.

“Oh, Champ!” Master laughed. It wasn’t the good kind of laugh, like when he licked her face. It was the laugh that rumbled up through her nose because her mouth was in that tight thin line that made his head hang in shame. He hated that he always slipped on the rug.

"Want to go for a walk, Champ?" She jiggled the handle to the back door.

'Walk!' Champ barked. He ran over to where his leash was hanging from the peg on the wall. 'Walk!' Champ chomped down on the leash, grabbing it off the wall and carried it over to Master. He loved going for walks.

"Good boy, Champ." She ruffled his ears for a moment as he basked in her praise. "Good boy." With a snick she attached the leash to his collar and then opened the door. She didn’t even have to tug on the leash for him to follow; he walked out right at her side.

As Champ trotted on the walkway around the house he kept in careful step with Master. They had practiced walking many times and he knew exactly where he was supposed to be: on her right, a half step behind her, letting her lead him. And no matter how tempting the squirrels were he was not supposed to chase them, even if they chirped at him or ran right in front of them. He was a Good Boy and Good Boys didn't chase squirrels. At least, not when on the leash.

Maybe they'd go down to the pond today. There was a nice path there and Champ liked to follow how it meandered through the woods. Master let him bark at the ducks as long as he didn't try to run after any of them. She didn't like it when he took off because that would tug the leash and it would hurt her hands. Only Bad Dogs did things like that and he didn't want to be a Bad Dog. He really tried not to be a Bad Dog, anyway. But he was sometimes. He didn't like what she did then, but it was his own fault. He deserved it.

Today would be a Good Day though. He'd show her. Champ pranced carefully at her side, leaving just the amount of lead in the leash that he knew she liked. And he ignored the squirrels that chattered and teased him from the safety of the big tree by the gate. Hopefully, he'd get them later. After a walk sometimes Master let him run around in the yard. If she allowed it today he’d chase those squirrels and show them they shouldn't mess with him!

The sun was stronger today, and even though it was still early in the day it was very warm. Master only wore her usual cape, which never came off, even in the house, but this was the first time she didn't grab a wrap to throw on over it when they went out.

Master was talking to him, telling him about summer, a word he remembered explained the warmer days but also saying a lot of other things he didn't understand. But he didn't mind. She radiated her feelings, smelling of contentment and warmth and her love for him. Champ loved days like this.

They walked all the way around the pond and down the path that led to the road full of loud cars, but then turned and took the shortcut through the meadow to get home without them having to be too close to the loud road, which made Champ even happier. Master didn’t like the road and always pulled his leash very tight when they were near it, making it hard from him to keep his place next to her the way he was supposed to. The grass was so soft under his paws, unlike the hard floor at home that sometimes hurt to walk on or the road which got so hot later in the day it made his toes burn. Champ also liked the way Master glided through the meadow, they’d always go a bit faster- he’d be have to run to keep up with her- and her cape would flap and flutter in the breeze behind them.

The meadow always ended too soon, but when they got home she bent down on one knee, took his head in her hands and rubbed her face in his fur. He licked her in response, sloppy, big licks all over her face that made her happy and smile and she said, “Oh, you are such a good boy, Champ. Such a very good boy.” Reaching behind her, she swung the gate, making sure the latch caught, and then she unhooked his leash. “Go play, Champ!” She headed back inside, but paused in the doorway, “Go chase the squirrels!”

‘Squirrel!’ He took off for the big tree, barking ‘Squirrel! Squirrel! Squirrel!” over and over again. Maybe today was the day he’d finally catch one!

* * *

  
Champ decided he didn't like hot weather. Usually he liked playing outside, but today he started panting after only a few games of Fetch the Squeaky. Master didn't seem to notice though, she barely paid any attention as he brought Squeaky back to her. He plopped it at her feet and she bent down, grabbed Squeaky and threw it. Over and over and over again.

Champ was tired. He stopped trying to catch Squeaky in the air and instead watched as it sailed high over his head and landed in the far corner of the yard. He trundled over to it, but, after sniffing the air, walked right past Squeaky in search of something new and interesting. He knew he was smelling the sticky sweet smell of something dead. Maybe many dead things. Not in the yard, though; even all the way back here, this far from the house, the yard was still the low cut flat grass that Master insisted on. But, the ground just on the other side of the back fence was patchy with the grass disturbed in many places like something had been digging there. Champ liked digging. He wasn't allowed to dig in the yard, but maybe Master wouldn’t mind if he dug there?

The smells wafted in the breeze. Decay. Death. Sadness. Nothing he remembered smelling before, not that strongly and all together like that. Champ pressed his nose at the crack below the lowest fence board, trying to get a better whiff. It was coming from the dug up spots. There was something buried there and he wanted to find out what! Squishing down he managed to get his whole head under the fence, and if he wiggled just right maybe he could...

"Champ! Bad Dog!" Suddenly Master was there, grabbing his collar and yanking him back into the yard. "Bad boy!" Champ let his head hang down, ashamed at making her mad, at breaking the rules, at being caught. He tried to get his feet under him as she dragged him all the way back to the house, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate, not with how fast she was going or how hard it was to breathe with the collar being pulled so tightly or how her yelling ripped deep into him. He was Bad Boy. A Bad Dog. Bad Dog tried to leave the yard. Bad Dog went where he wasn't supposed to. Bad Boy who almost ruined everything.

‘Sorry!’ he barked softly. ‘Sorry!’ but it didn’t matter. Master was mad. Champ was a Bad Dog.

Bad Dog was dragged into the Bad Dog room. The Bad Dog Room was cold with no windows, no bed, no water bowl. It had a thick, smoky smell from the candles and things Master left burning in there that made him woozy from the minute he entered. It was small, barely long enough for him to lie down and not even wide enough for him to curl up. Master shoved him in there and attached his collar to two of the chains that were bolted to the wall. Then she grabbed the switch that hung on the wall just inside the door. Her voice was very low and she muttered words that he still didn't know and she counted off the blows in time to the cadence and rhythm of her murmurings. When she finally stopped she ran her fingers over his back and scraped her sharp nails in his cuts, and then slammed the door shut.

His back stinging, Champ lay down and hid his head in his paws as he whimpered softly. He didn’t want to be a Bad Dog. He’d try harder to behave. He would.  
  


* * *

  
Leaves were falling and blowing around in the air before making crunchy noises as when they finally landed. Master spent a lot of time raking them into big piles and then scooping them up. Champ played Bite the Rake with her for a little while, where he would pretend the rake was a big evil snake and he’d jump on it and slap it down and gnaw on it a bit.

‘Got Rake!’ Champ pinned it between his front paws. ‘My Rake!’ Master laughed at his woofs and pulled and pushed it out from under him.

“Enough, Champ. I need to finish this.” She lifted her hand up to stay/stop and Champ instantly dropped into the stay position. “Good boy. Now go play.”

Yes, Champ was a Good Boy. Instead of playing he wandered over to a patch of sun on the front porch and he settled down in a spot where he could watch her, but was out of the way of the leaves she was collecting. He wasn’t too sorry she ended their game. Even though they hadn’t been playing long he was pretty tired. A nap would be nice.

He’d been taking a lot of naps lately- dozing in the sun, or in his doggy bed, or in front of the fireplace. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to play Fetch the Squeaky with Master, go on long walks, or play in the leaves but his legs had been aching a lot lately. And his back paws hurt. A lot.

Master seemed to understand though, and sometimes rubbed them, which helped. He didn’t understand what she’d whisper to him then though. “It’s almost time, Champ,” she’d told him, “You’ve been a good boy and I’ll be sorry when you’re all used up and you have to go.” He didn’t know what any of that meant, but he wagged his tail because she smelled proud and content and called him a Good Boy and as long as he was a Good Boy and she was happy, nothing else mattered.

Champ curled up on the porch, nose tucked into his tail, and watched Master through half closed eyes. The leaves were piled very high now and he almost wished he had more energy. He thought that running and attacking one of piles would be a lot of fun. Tilting his head he looked more carefully at the yard. A memory of jumping into leaves skittered into place and he had the vague sensation of running up on his hind legs and crashing into huge leaf piles, making the leaves swirl everywhere while he laughed and laughed. Laughed? Champ didn’t understand. The memory made no sense. There was a boy in the leaves with him, one smaller than him, and the boy was no one who lived near here, not someone he remembered, but somehow Champ knew him anyway and he felt a burst of protective love sweep over him just thinking about the boy.

Champ huffed into his tail. How could someone who wasn’t Master be so important to him? Couldn’t happen. It must have been a dream, or something Master had watched on the flickering box in the comfy room. Master was all that mattered to Champ. She was all that should matter and did matter. She was everything to him.

But, despite that, Champ found himself thinking about that little boy as he fell asleep.

* * *

  
When he heard the bell Champ barked ‘Doorbell! Doorbell! Doorbell!’ so Master would know and he struggled to his feet to check out who was there. They didn’t have too many people that came to the house.

“Hello?” Master called out, opening the door, but she kept the chain on so it only opened a little way. Still halfway down the hall, Champ couldn’t hear the reply, but even though he didn’t recognize the smell off the visitor Master took off the chain and opened the door the rest of the way and invited the person in.

From what he was wearing, Champ could tell this was Mailman, only one he hadn’t met before. The new Mailman scared Champ. He was big and loomed over Master. And he had a deep voice and loud laugh that boomed through the whole house. The old Mailman was Steve. Steve always had a crunchy treat for Champ. Steve always made sure he swung the gate so that it creaked and Champ would know that he was coming. And Steve never tried to come in without letting Champ sniff his fingers. But new Mailman’s hands were full of letters and things and he didn’t offer Champ a chance to smell him, which was not right. Not right at all. It was important to sniff fingers, everyone knew that.

“Champ?” Master called him over to her side with a tap to her leg. “This is Ben. Shake, boy.”

Champ plunked his haunches down next to Master and offered a paw to Ben the Mailman. But only because he’d been ordered to. He decided he didn’t like how Ben had gotten through the gate without making a noise, or that couldn’t quite read Ben, or how suddenly his head went all muddled at the sound of Ben’s voice.

Ben went down on one knee so he didn’t tower over Champ anymore. “Hiya, Champ,” he said. His voice sounded almost sad. “What a good boy you are.” Yes, Champ was a Good Boy. Ben leaned forward and grabbed Champ’s paw. His other hand reached over to rest under Champ’s head, his fingers scratching _that_ spot under his ear that always made his hind leg bounce. Oh, that felt good. Champ looked at Ben, really looked. Those eyes, he’d seen those eyes before. And now that he was up close he could smell him. Champ snuffled a few times, Mailman smelled like safety, and love, and protection, and home. The room was spinning and Champ was dizzy and his head hurt and then, very quietly Ben whispered, “Dean?” and suddenly everything seemed wrong but he knew Ben wasn’t Ben but a man named Sammy and Champ didn’t know why but Sammy being here made him feel happy and scared and sick all at the same time.

“Champ?” Master cried out. She sounded worried, but she smelled mad. “What did you do to him?” Her voice was higher, shriller, than he’d ever heard before, and there was a hissing noise between her words now. “Get away from him before you ruin everything!”

Suddenly Champ smelled danger and bloodlust and when he opened up his eyes Master had grabbed BenSammyMailman. Her cape had stretched out and was flapping, keeping them against the wall. She reached back with one arm and Champ could see her long fingers were now claws. The smell of Sammy’s fear overpowered him. He couldn’t let her hurt his Sammy. He had to stop her! Champ jumped, growling and snarling, snapping his jaw shut around her arm. She screeched and flung him across the room and he smashed into the wall.

Big loud bangs, gunshots, rang out, and the Master was silent. Pain radiated up and down Champ’s side. He couldn’t move and he whimpered softly.

Champ watched as Sammy dragged Master into the Bad Dog room and slammed the door shut, locking her in. “It’s okay, Dean. It’s almost over.”

Dean. Champ laid his head down on the cool floor, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Dean. That name sounded so right. Not Champ, _Dean._

“I’m here, Dean. It’s okay, I got you.” Sammy was there, smelling worried and nervous, but not hurt. Gentle hands felt up and down his flank. “I’m gonna get you back to normal, I just gotta....”

Unable to hide his surprise, Dean growled softly when Sammy pulled a sharp knife out.

“Shh.” Sammy stroked his head. “These binding’s gotta come off to completely end the transference.”

Innately trusting Sammy, without knowing why, Dean stayed still and watched, eyes wide, as the knife sliced through his leg. He winced as he watched it cut through his fur, confused when somehow it didn’t hurt.

“Here we go.” Strong hands grabbed his leg and there was a soft ‘snick’ sound as suddenly his leg unfolded.

Hurt and confused, Dean whined as he stared down at skin and feet instead of fur and paws. He yipped ‘Scared!’ twice before Sammy quieted him. Before long his front paws- no, his hands- were free as well and various wrappings, bindings and mitts lay scattered on the floor.

“Okay,” Sammy said as he unhooked Champ’s collar. “That’s the last thing that was tying you to this form. Now I can go end this nightmare forever.” Sammy stood up, holding the collar out so the light glinted off it. “If I wrap this around her neck she’ll be trapped in her natural state and she’ll be vulnerable.” Sammy lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder for a moment. “Don’t worry, one little incantation and a nice hot fire and it’ll all be over. But first we’re going to get you dressed and then into the Impala, okay?” With a shrug he pulled out some clothes that had been stashed in the bottom of the mailbag. “Hey, be prepared and all that, right?”

The getting dressed part was easy, although a bit uncomfortable, since Dean was too uncoordinated to do anything other than let Sammy guide him into a loose pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt several sizes too big. Getting out of the house, however, was much harder. His legs didn't want to work and, even leaning on Sammy he didn't have the strength or coordination to walk. After a few frustrating minutes Sammy gave him a rough, "Sorry," before gathering Dean up in his arms and carrying him out. It was embarrassing and confusing, so many sensations and scents and feelings swarmed Dean and he buried his face in Sammy’s shirt.

Luckily, the car was just up the road and Sammy slipped Dean into the front seat, but on the passenger side. Dean took a deep breath, letting the leather smell and comfortable feeling of the Impala wash over him. Looking up at his brother Dean smiled and then cleared his throat. "Sammy," he said hoarsely. "Sammy. Home."

"Yeah, Dean. You're home."  



End file.
